J e w e l s M a r c u s & J a c q u e l y n H e w i t t
Earth Day
Mama Earth is a big ole loud mouthed fat ass black girl, from Oakland, with hundreds of mountainous tits pushing against the chest of Poppy Sky.
When she comes, she shakes and shudders in orgasmic glee as volcanoes erupt with hot molten seismological ecstasy. Birthing us all, that bitchy capricious
big old broad, tells first one then another that they alone are her favorite, chosen clones. Little monkeys we, shave her legs,
build shelter from the green twiggy hairs and nestle between massive cavernous thighs to puerilely play hide and seek with Father Sky. We owe her, from before birth to after death,
our sustenance in everything, everything, in spite of our fruitless redress. In unconscious sleep walk we trample her abundance, while Mama cries rivers of tears for our blunderance.
Sky helps to wash and whip away our transgressions. We who think we’re her most favored, chosen brethren. (We we we) ungrateful spoiled brats who ignore her pleas and tear at her shabby dress,
flinging tantrums rife with demands, thinking we have the upper hand and when she claims our bones at last, she sings the blues to we darlings past,
I love da bones, da bleached, blanched bones. I sing em home to warn of greed and hate, (teach my next favorites to not make the same mistakes). I love da bones, da bleached, blanched bones.